unsteady (hold onto me)
by pleasantly.demented
Summary: AU/No ZA. Beth Greene & Daryl Dixon have a long and complicated history, which will be revealed gradually through flashbacks & conversations that take place in the present when the two are brought together again by tragedy. Though they're bound for life, their relationship ended several years ago without much in the way of closure. Doesn't every story deserve an ending?
1. all my tears have been used up

_**A/N: Hi! Yes, I know there might a person or two out there waiting for a prevaricate or hands clean update, and I swear I'll never give up, Jack, but my mind gets distracted and then things like this happen. Totally experimental here, but I basically have the entire story done, just needs editing. Reviews are welcome, as always. I do not own nor am I affiliated with TWD, AMC, any of the recognizable characters, any parts of song lyrics/songs used for chapters/titles, etc.**_

 **chapter 1: all my tears have been used up**

"There a reason you're here?"

She sucks in a harsh – but, thankfully, quiet – breath as his words fill and stretch the vacant air between them.

She's surprised that he's acknowledging her presence. Surprised that he knows she's there, because she's standing several feet behind him and he's got his back turned to her and she knows she's being and has been quiet. Invisible, almost.

She doesn't answer. Maybe she can't. Maybe she doesn't know what to say. Maybe she's pretending that she's not actually there.

She shouldn't be.

He's patient, to an extent. She knows this. He's the same as he's always been. The same as he's been since she first met him. Since she first loved him.

The air is thick here. It's a muggy day. Early summer. There's a light breeze, but it's not the kind that cools or refreshes. It only seems to make the air thicker and more difficult to inhale. Maybe all it's doing is pushing the thickness around in invisible waves.

She looks down at the hem of her sundress and picks at it a little with her lightly-trembling fingers, because it's sticking in random places to the sweaty skin of her thighs. It's nothing too over-the-top, her dress. Nothing too happy.

He sighs audibly and she watches with wide eyes as he stands from where he's been squatting for the better part of the last hour. She sees the shadows cast by the trees that surround the grounds here begin to shift as he half-turns his body toward hers.

Her first instinct – and it's strong and heavy and almost chokes her with its weight – is to take a drop-step backward and then make a run for her car. Assuming she can find it. Assuming she can remember where she parked it earlier that morning.

But she swallows it down, that instinct, and it slides down her esophagus on top of the saliva that's built up in the back of her throat.

The ground is fresh where he's now standing. He keeps his eyes narrowed and directed towards her as he takes a few steps backwards and then a bit to the side so he can perch his ass on the side ledge of a headstone.

It doesn't belong to anyone in his family. Not hers, either.

She's not entirely sure what she's thinking, if she's thinking at all. Her eyes slide upward from his boots to his mildly dirty, dark blue jeans and half-tucked-in blue shirt, which is underlying the same denim vest that he always wears and has always worn, and then stop abruptly when they reach his face.

He's lit up a smoke, and she can just barely catch the scent of it as the feeble breeze carries it away from the space he occupies and into hers.

"Havin' food and shit at Rick's. Ain't nothin' else goin' on here. 'S a damn graveyard, Beth."

His voice is low and his face is angled slightly downward toward the ground, but she catches each word individually as he speaks them.

She finds her voice eventually, as she begins taking small, shuffling steps across the neatly-manicured lawn. Not exactly towards him. But sort of.

"I know. Just didn't get the chance to talk to ya much at the – at his services. Haven't really – ain't seen ya in a while, Daryl."

She's a few feet – but, still, an entire world – away from him when he lifts his head. He jerks it backward, just slightly, to maneuver the dark, shaggy hair out of his eyes. And then he looks at her again.

And there's something there in his eyes that she can't identify.

"Talk?" He snorts and takes a rough drag from his cigarette. "The fuck y'wanna talk 'bout? Weather? News?"

"I just –" she starts, and it sounds semi-confident, but she doesn't know how to finish. And that's nothing new for her – not when it comes to him and them and here and now and then.

"Just wanted to tell ya I'm sorry, I guess." She looks down. "'Bout Merle. Know how much he meant to ya."

He shakes his head at her before sliding his own eyes to the ground, kicking it a little with the toe of one boot.

"Nothin' everyone in this town ain't been expectin' for years. Hell, he's my damn brother and I don't even know how he made it long as he did, way he acted. Yain't gotta pretend you're sorry."

"I'm not." Her response is almost immediate. And it's true. And she wants him to know that for some reason.

"Not pretendin', that is," she clarifies quietly.

"Where's Annie?" He's stepping closer to her now. "Maggie got her? Didn't see Jim by your side at the funeral home."

She's surprised – again – for a moment. That he'd even notice something like that. Something like the absence of her boyfriend.

Recently turned ex-boyfriend. But he doesn't know that. It's a new development. One that she hasn't even shared with her and Daryl's daughter. Because the death of her uncle was much more important. No need for piling more stress on top of the five year-old girl's shoulders.

She clears her throat. He's just a few inches away from her now, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

"Oh, um – yeah. Maggie's got her. I'm sure they're at Rick and Lori's."

He furrows his eyebrows and his blue eyes are dancing between hers for a few silent moments. And then he nods.

"Thanks for bringin' her. Know it ain't no picnic, that two-hour drive. 'Specially with a kid."

She shrugs and smiles a little. Squints into the sun and tilts her head upward so that she can look at him.

"'S okay. I was already plannin' to be bringin' her up next weekend for ya'll's campin' trip anyhow. And – look, Daryl. Don't feel like ya gotta keep her for the week after all of this. We can reschedule. It's only June. Plenty of summer left."

Without being aware of it, they'd begun walking toward the western edge of the cemetery, towards the street.

He's biting on his thumbnail, maintaining a couple of feet of space between them without any effort that she notices.

"Ain't gonna have no more vacation days after this. Not 'til after October, at least. And then she'll be in school. Shit."

He sighs.

She's silent for a moment as they continue to walk.

"We ain't in any rush to leave town." She keeps her head and her eyes forward, halfheartedly squinting at the road in front of them to see if she can spot her car.

"School out for the summer already?"

She nods.

"Did Jim quit his job or somethin'?"

She keeps her mouth shut for a few minutes and notices that their pace has slowed.

She can feel his eyes on the side of her face, and it burns her skin a little. She hasn't spent more than ten or so minutes with him – alone, at least – in the last three years. Not that she can remember, anyway. Always just brief hand-offs of the child they share. Or text messages, now that he's better at it and it no longer takes him three hours to compose the same number of sentences.

His stare doesn't waver, so she shakes her head and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth before popping it out and turning slightly towards him.

"We ain't together anymore." Her voice is soft and she wonders if the words she's spoken will get lost in the expanse of air that stretches between them.

And as if on cue, her sandaled feet contact the pavement of the sidewalk and she catches a glimpse of her silver Chevy Cobalt a few yards up the road.

"Thank God," she sighs. "Was beginnin' to wonder if I actually drove here or not."

They've stopped walking, but he's still looking at her. She awkwardly taps a foot on the pavement.

"Left my bike at the funeral home," he mumbles, shifting his gaze towards his own feet. "Rode over here with Rick and Lori. Wasn't thinkin' 'bout after."

"Come on," she says, turning in the direction of her car.

"'S okay, I can walk."

"Don't be stupid, Daryl," she blurts. And she slaps a hand over her mouth. Because she instantly regrets it. Because it reminds her of a long time ago. When they were _them_.

She feels her throat growing red and, after seeing the half-smirk that's formed on his scruffy face, her face heating up.

"Sorry," she says, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment with the hopes of regaining some composure. "I mean, if ya wanna walk to think and be alone and stuff, then I get it. But otherwise, please let me give ya a ride. Your daughter wants to see you."

His smirk and face fall a little as she speaks, but he lifts his eyes to her and they're the glowing blue base of a flame.

"God, I wanna see her," he says on an exhale. "Fuckin' love her, Beth. Best thing I ever done with my life. Merle loved her, too. He's been talkin' 'bout our campin' trip for weeks 'til – well, 'til this."

Beth feels an acute twinge of pain in her chest. And it's been there since last week, when she got the call from Daryl that Merle had passed away, but it'd changed and dulled a little as the shock had worn off.

But now it's splintering and breaking apart like little chips of wood, filling and emptying her all at once. And a lump forms gradually but fiercely in the base of her throat when she hears Daryl, the man she first loved and still loves and always will because he's the father of her child, choking on his own shallowly-inhaled breaths in an effort to avoid spilling a tear over his brother.

She stops walking abruptly and, in one motion, turns around to face him and presses her body into his and tightly wraps her bare, slender arms around his tensed shoulders.

And he exhales so deeply that it sounds a little like relief.

And if he could hear her over his own struggle to normalize his breathing, he'd know that the breath she exhaled against his chest sounded just the same.

His arms are tight around her waist and his head is dipped low into the skin that spreads smoothly from her neck to her shoulder. She feels him shudder and breathe and sob quietly. And she whispers her condolences, reminds him – though he's well aware – that she loves Merle, that Annie loves Merle, and that he has his memories and _no, it'll never be the same but it'll get better, I promise you, Daryl._

And eventually they pull themselves together and apart and awkwardly wipe their eyes and noses while staring at the ground between them.

Wordlessly, they get into her car. Wordlessly, she drives the few short miles to Rick and Lori's house.

And when they walk inside the house and she watches as Daryl and Annie embrace – and she hasn't seen their interaction, not in this way, in a very, very long time – she feels another lump form in her throat. And it's different. Harder. Denser.

For just a moment, the spaces between her eyes and her mind are saturated – assaulted – with an abridged version of their past.

 _She's crying. Annie's in her car seat, asleep. He paces, and a look of something somewhere in between disgust and disappointment is plastered across his face._

" _I'm sorry, Daryl," she whispers. "I wish there was another way."_

 _He looks at her, and all she can see is fear. Anger. Sorrow. Desperation, like the kind she feels._

" _I love you, Beth. Love you both. Can't get my shit together. Not with ya'll here. Ain't fair to you. Ain't fair to her. Shit's been so bad."_

 _She's forgiven him – or she's trying. She's trying to forgive herself. And she's leaving. She has to, for the sake of her heart and his and for the sake of their daughter's. Before it's too late. Before the resentment turns into something like hate. Something worse, like indifference. Maybe it's already too late, here and now – she doesn't know. They're so fucked up – she is and he is and yet they created this perfect human, this beautiful little girl – this accident – with the bluest eyes and the sandiest version of fine, light-colored hair. None of it's fair._

"Y'alright?"

The present snaps back into focus, and he's here – still here – and he's standing in front of her with Annie squirming in his arms.

"Oh," she whispers, and she notices the subtle concern in his eyes. "Yeah, sorry, I – I'm just a little tired."

"Daddy says we gonna stay for a while!" Annie's voice is enthusiastic.

Daryl holds a finger up to his lips. "Told ya, li'l one. We're gonna talk 'bout it later with your momma."

Beth sighs, because she's still hoping to mention something to Maggie before Annie does.

"I'm gonna get some food and say hi to everyone," she says, patting Annie on the head.

"Can we talk after ya eat?" Daryl asks quietly, distracting Annie with Uncle Merle's dog tags.

Beth nods and curls her lips into a small smile. "Just holler at me if she gets wild, okay? Couple hours past N-A-P time."

She makes her way toward the kitchen, sparing Daryl and Annie one more glance as she rounds the corner at the entryway.

And runs headfirst into her sister's chest.

"Jesus, Maggie. Sorry," she breathes, clutching her chest.

Maggie narrows her eyes.

"What's your problem?" Beth moves to walk past her older sister only for Maggie to block her trajectory, again, with her body.

"I don't think you stayin' here's a good idea, Beth. We should talk."


	2. fight when you feel like flying

_**A/N: pardon the double chapter upload! hopefully that doesn't annoy anyone. was a little delayed posting the first chapter. thanks to anyone reading/reviewing/following - means a lot. always look forward to your thoughts. xo**_

 **chapter 2: fight when you feel like flying**

Before Beth is able to fully comprehend the words spoken by her older and slightly-overprotective sister, Maggie's pulling her forcefully by the arm into the back corner of the mostly-empty kitchen. Lori smiles sadly at Beth as she moves to exit the room, not appearing curious at all about Maggie basically yanking her shoulder out of its joint.

"What the hell, Maggie?" Beth tugs her arm out of Maggie's grasp and squares up to her sister's face. She stares directly into Maggie's suspicious green eyes, silently imploring her to start talking and soon.

"I should be askin' _you_ that." Maggie doesn't elaborate; instead, she crosses her arms across her chest and steps backwards, creating a small space between herself and Beth.

"Mind tellin' me what this is all about?" Beth crosses her own arms, mirroring her sister's stance.

Maggie rolls her eyes. "Annie. What she said. 'Bout ya'll stickin' around here. That's what it's about. Surprised?"

Beth sighs. "I only mentioned it to Daryl right before we got here. Just a thought. She was supposed to be spendin' the next week with him. She's just excited, Mags."

"You think it's all just okay now, don't ya?" Maggie's voice drops an octave and the edges of her words are sharp as they enter Beth's ears and travel deftly to her brain.

She stares at Maggie, blinking and scowling and shaking her head.

"Stop. Just stop actin' like you don't know what I'm talkin' about. I saw it. I _see_ it, Beth. _That_ look in your damn eyes. Think just because Merle's dead that it makes any of this just - suddenly okay? It doesn't. _I_ ain't okay with it."

Beth feels her mouth pop open as she processes and begins to unfold the meaning behind her sister's words.

Maggie continues, lowering her voice further and Beth is distracted by the constant shifting in her lips as she shapes the words.

"Merle was part of the problem. But he wasn't _all_ of it. Never has been. Yain't been 'round here, not really, for a long time. Beth, you made the right choice, leavin' when ya did. I don't want you stickin' around here, gettin' yourself confused."

"Gettin' myself confused?" The volume of Beth's voice increases slightly, because she's feeling the tiny, gentle fingers of rage pulling her skin taut at the base of her skull and the sting of irritation pumping hotly through her vessels.

"This ain't about _me_ , Maggie. _Never has been_ ," she spits, allowing her mouth to curl into a sweet version of a sneer as she repeats her sister's words. "Think if it was that I would've willingly left? With a damn two year-old?"

"Ya left because ya had to. Because stayin' meant you were in danger. Annie was in danger. That ain't changed just because Merle's gone." Maggie's face has softened, Beth notices. Like she's feeling sorry for her. Like she's worried about her baby sister's emotional turmoil and that she's the only one who can see anything clearly in this situation.

"I'm more than capable of keepin' _my_ daughter safe, Maggie. And besides, I don't remember you warnin' me off any time in the past two years, when Annie's come and stayed an entire week with Daryl before. So what's different now? One less Dixon, 's all. Figured that part would have you jumpin' with joy."

Maggie recoils and exhales a heavy breath in Beth's face. And Beth can't find it in her to regret anything she's said. Because she's finally learned to speak for herself.

"I'll make the decision 'bout whether or not we stay. You don't get to make that call, Maggie. She's my daughter." Beth points a finger toward the doorway of the kitchen, keeping her voice low. "And that man out there is her father. The father she gets to see maybe five or six times a year. Can you even imagine that, Maggie? Remember how close we were with daddy? Can you even _imagine_ goin' so long without seein' him or huggin' him?"

"Daddy wasn't involved with criminals," Maggie snaps.

And Beth just barely opens her mouth to respond when Maggie's spinning on her heel and stomping out of the kitchen.

Xxx

"Find somethin' to eat?" Daryl's voice is quiet as he approaches her.

Most everyone's left Rick and Lori's house. Maggie and Beth's brother-in-law, Glenn, included. Annie's been napping for only about twenty minutes, so to give her a little extra snooze time, Beth's perched herself on the old yard swing outside the house. She's watching the sun begin its descent below the horizon and listening to the sounds of a peaceful evening in her hometown.

She nods, curling her knees into her chest.

She's tried very hard to ignore the echoes of her sister's words in her head.

"Annie's grown up since I last seen her."

Beth nods again and lifts her eyes just briefly to his as he comes around the side of the frame of the swing.

He looks at the empty spot next to her on the bench-like seat, which is swaying only slightly from the gentle rocking of Beth's body, and then shifts his eyes back to her face.

"Okay if I sit?"

She nods, silently cursing herself for feeling like her only form of communication at the moment is the movement of her damn head. But she's not sure that she could speak right now if she even wanted to.

"What happened with Jimmy, Beth?"

She almost jumps at the sound of his name. She keeps her eyes forward, away from Daryl's face.

She finds her voice eventually.

"I don't really wanna talk 'bout that. Just – just don't say anythin' to Annie. Decided to wait and tell her some other time. Maybe when we go home."

"Yeah, sorry. I just can't talk 'bout or hear one more goddamned person tryin' to talk 'bout Merle," he mumbles, and she feels his weight shift as he flexes his neck and picks at his fingers.

They're silent for a few moments, and Beth thinks about when her own life had spiraled – for the first time, at least – several years earlier, not long before she and Daryl met.

"Always thought that was so fucked up," she whispers, looking down at her own hands. "I mean, at their – ya know, my parents and Shawn – at their funeral, I just – I just 'bout lost my shit. Big time. 'Cause everyone kept comin' up to us, sayin' how wonderful they were and tellin' us stories 'bout when they were young or somethin' stupid like that. 'Bout the _good old days_ and how _cool_ they were. And I hated it – that they were tryin' to tell me 'bout these – I dunno, 'bout these parts of their lives that I'd missed. Knowin' that there was already so much more I was gonna miss 'cause they were gone. Felt like they were just tryin' to add a little more pain."

She sniffs the summer air, and it smells like home and childhood and days filled with climbing trees and staying up late and her momma's voice and her daddy's after-shave lotion.

"And now, when I look back, it's like – I wish I would'a listened to all those stories. 'Cause my memories are good and all, but they're so faded. And they were only 'bout the times I had with 'em or silly stories they told or things that they did. And some days it's almost like I forget they were ever even – I dunno, ever even alive or somethin'. Like they never existed. Feels wrong."

He's staring at her; she can feel it on the skin of the side of her face, in her thrumming pulse, in the way he's breathing.

"Think you guys can really stay around for a few days?" His voice is a little breathless, and Beth worries her bottom lip in between her teeth, wondering if bringing all of that - _them_ , especially, now – was as cruel as she'd once thought those people at the funeral were.

He waits for her to answer and shoves at the ground with his feet, causing the swing to sway forcefully backwards before drifting forward in an uneven pattern. The chains clank noisily against the metal frame.

She only stays silent for a minute. Maybe less.

"Yeah. I want to. But I don't wanna – don't want _us_ to intrude or anythin' – figure you got a lot to do. Takin' care of Merle's stuff, ya know, all that. Was thinkin' we could see if there's a room available for the week at the motel downtown. I can text ya and let ya know where we're at so ya know where Annie'll be. And when you're busy with things, I can keep her occupied."

"Ain't gonna stay at the farm?"

She removes the band holding her hair in a soft ponytail and runs a hand through the long, blonde strands, sighing gently.

"Nah. Not the first couple of days, anyhow. Annie still gets the _jeepers creepers_ thinkin' 'bout stayin' in the house that belonged to my parents. I dunno why – she never minded much when she was little. Think she's been tryin' real hard to understand death here lately."

She lets a little of the pride she feels for their smart, beautiful daughter seep into her words.

"Think we need to – I mean, I dunno. Never mind."

The cell phone in his back pocket vibrates against the weathered wood of the seat of the swing, so he stands up and grabs for it, flipping it open while avoiding Beth's questioning face.

"What, Daryl?"

"Nothin'. Look, I gotta run. Got some cleanin' up to do. Already. Al-fuckin'-ready." He sighs and waves the phone in the air.

She swallows down the snarky remark that her brain first creates in response to the situation awaiting him. She doesn't need to ask to understand the gist of the nature of the text message he received.

She shrugs. "Okay. I'll let ya know when and where we get settled. Gonna let her sleep a li'l longer. If it's too late to get a room, we'll pro'ly end up stayin' here for the night."

He shoves the phone back into his pocket and looks at her for a minute, and she sees his eyes scanning from top to bottom, side to side.

"'Night, Beth. Thanks for bein' here. Thanks for bringin' Annie. Tell her I love her and I'll see her tomorrow?"

"'Course. Be safe."

He nods once more and she hears the screen door to the house squeak on its hinges and then hiss quietly as it shuts – only to squeak again moments later as Daryl re-emerges with Rick.

"Be right back, Beth. Gonna take Dixon to get his bike. Think Lori fell asleep starin' at Annie sleepin'." She can hear the laughter and love in Rick Grimes's voice. He's the local sheriff, so it's always been a running joke in the town that he associates with the likes of Daryl Dixon. But they've been friends for as long as Beth has known Daryl. And she's always loved Rick like family. And she admires him - admires the way that he loves his wife and kids with everything that he is and actually _shows_ it, every single day that he lives and breathes – always has, always will.

Beth finds herself smiling up at him.

"Be safe, Rick. See ya soon."

She leans forward and dangles her legs, letting her toes claw the soft grass of the lawn.

As she sucks in a deep breath and the sweet Georgian air fills her lungs, she's transported to a night several years earlier. A night that haunts her dreams – even the good ones – and fills her nightmares until they're a balloon, one that's always, always bound to burst.

 _She's not wearing any shoes. She's not sure where she left them, but she's got more. She's throwing all her shit into the trunk of her car, pausing every few minutes to swipe angrily at the tears rolling down her cheeks. She feels the gravel of the shitty road biting into her feet, and she feels a sudden, desperate urge to push all of her weight into her legs, to dig her feet into the road so that the jagged edges can draw her blood and form scars that she'll never forget. So she remembers._

 _Daryl's there. He's standing on the front porch of the house he once shared with his older brother. Annie's screaming in his arms and flailing her own around to express what her words can't yet._

 _She's almost staggering as she makes her way up the short concrete walk to reach him._ _No, not_ him. _Her._

 _"You're just letting him fuck everythin' up," she whispers harshly into his pained face._

 _He moves Annie to his hip and she's calmed down some. Much more so than Beth has._

 _"All I asked was for a li'l time. Let me help him. That's it. Ain't sayin' you gotta go. Don't want ya to, Beth."_

 _She snorts. "How much time, Daryl? You been_ helpin' him _for weeks now. Stayin' over here, spendin' all your free time with him 'stead of with us. And I've been calm 'bout it. Been bringin' your damn daughter over here – to this hell-hole – so you can at least see her. But I ain't doin' that anymore – ain't bringin' her here."_

 _She's pissed. Beyond. Can't see straight. She needs him. Needs him and needs him to stop this, whatever it is. Needs him to want to stop it, because it can't be good, not with what she's seen tonight._

 _"That's fine, Beth. I can't control what goes on here – ya know that. Go back home, to the apartment. Told him I can't be stayin' over here like this no more. Payin' rent at a place I'm just barely sleepin' at. Can't fuckin' figure out what the fuck I should be doin'. He's my brother."_

 _Beth sighs. She wasn't upset with Daryl helping his brother out, regardless of her feelings towards the man - which, even after being with Daryl (and, therefore, knowing or at least knowing of Merle) for the last three years, she still couldn't describe with any version of certainty. She hasn't asked any questions – she trusts Daryl with her life. With her child's life. But when she walked into that house a few hours ago, her trust in him was compromised. Maybe not her trust in_ him _necessarily. But her trust in people. And it's not because of anything he was doing, but because of what others were doing around him. What they were doing with piles of money and lines of white powder and needles and syringes and spoons filled with amber-colored liquid that they held loosely over the burning flames of lighters and candles and the ranges of the stove and guns and knives and dried blood under their fingernails. And now she has so many questions. She doesn't know if she wants any answers._

 _"Yes, Daryl, I know he's your brother. Told ya time and time again - I get it. If it were Maggie, I'd help her in any way that I could, I'd do anythin' she wanted - as long as it didn't put you or Annie in danger. That's the one condition. Only one that should matter to either of us."_

 _She lifts a hand and brushes the strands of his bangs to the side so that his eyes are visible – and they're little glowing blue lanterns that have seen every piece of her, inside and out. She lets her hand slide down the side of his face and onto the soft, plump cheek of their now-sleeping daughter._

 _"Brothers, sisters, parents – not that we have any – but, still, if we did. They're all secondary to this. To us."_

 _He bends forward carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping one year-old still hiked on his hip, and presses his lips – and they're hard and gentle and soft and possessive, all at once – to hers._

 _"Wouldn't never do anythin' to risk either of you. Or put ya in danger. Promise you. I love you. Come on." He steps forward, locking his fingers tightly with Beth's. "Let's go home. Wanna feel you next to me all night."_

And at this point, in her dreams and nightmares and deepest fears and most secret wishes, she begs herself to keep her mouth shut. To walk with her boyfriend, with her child, in silence. But if nothing else, she's reliable – in all dimensions of reality.

 _"I hate him sometimes, Daryl," she whispers, and she's almost ashamed as she says it. But she doesn't lie, not to him. "Most the time. And I've never really hated anyone. 'Cept maybe the people responsible for momma and daddy and Shawn. But Merle - only love I got for the man is 'cause he's your brother. 'Cause he practically raised ya. Other than that, he's just another junkie. Even if ya don't wanna see it. Whole damn world would pro'ly be better off without him."_

She slips her feet into her sandals and takes a few deep, deliberate breaths before returning to the warmth of the house behind her.


	3. spirits in my head and they won't go

_**A/N: Pardon the delay. "Morning after" here. Beth/Daryl/Annie interaction followed by some more involved present-day Beth/Daryl interaction. I'm laying a complex foundation here (and, at times, it is headache-inducing, sorry yo), but most the pieces are in place. So pace will pick up starting next chapter. Having questions and/or feeling confused at this point is totally understandable and expected. Feel free to ask questions. Reviews make my heart sing. Thanks to anyone reading.**_

 _ **xx**_

 **chapter 3: spirits in my head and they won't go**

She's still half-asleep. Maybe more than half. She's determined to keep her eyes closed for just a few more minutes. She smells bacon when she inhales and feels the soft material of a light blanket when she gently stretches her limbs.

She smiles to herself as she listens to Annie, and she thinks about popping her eyes open, just a little, so that she can see her daughter's excited face and listen to her enthusiastic words about everything and nothing.

"Momma was sad at Uncle Merle's funeral. And she was last night, too, 'cept Lori gived her a cookie and it made her smile."

Beth's listening but doesn't budge except to push her body just barely backwards to nestle deeper into the cushioned backrest of the sofa. She doesn't remember much about the previous night. Except that she'd been outside, and Daryl and Rick had left, and then she'd been thinking about the things she'd once said and feeling terribly guilty and sad and overwhelmed. She'd decided to rest on the couch for a while and when Lori came to tell her goodnight, she couldn't stop the hot, angry tears from spilling out of her eyes.

"You like cookies when you're sad, too?"

Beth's body tenses, because that's not the voice of any of the number of people she'd expected to hear.

"Uh-huh. I like cookies when I'm happy, too. Do you like 'em too, daddy?"

The tone of Annie's voice isn't like the one to which Beth has become accustomed when asking her daughter questions. Annie prefers to ask all the questions. Every question imaginable. Sometimes just one question, over and over. But she doesn't sound distracted or distant or uninterested as she's talking now, not a thing like she's only answering to appease Daryl.

"'Course. Somethin's gotta be wrong with people that don't like cookies." Daryl's voice is soft. Like he's talking to a stray dog, trying not to scare it away.

"Are you sad, daddy?"

"Not right now, 'cause I'm with you."

"I wish I could see you more. An' Rick an' Lori, too. An' Carl. An' Aunt Maggie and Uncle Glenn. Momma said we used'ta stay 'round here but then we had to move away."

Beth pops an eye open. Daryl and Annie are sitting on the floor several feet away from the sofa, which serves as a partition between the family room and the dining room inside the Grimes' home. They're sitting adjacent to the television, but it's just a black screen. The blinds are still closed, but she can see the rays of sun entering through the cracks between them.

Daryl's facing Beth, sitting cross-legged and still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His hair is a bit more unkempt than it'd been the day before, and his aviators are sitting on top of his head. The skin under his eyes is darkened, like he probably hasn't slept. She narrows her single eye into little more than a slit as she watches him take a sip from his coffee mug.

Annie rises onto her knees, and her hair isn't much tidier than her father's. It looks like Lori'd probably attempted to brush it before giving up and throwing the fine strands of it into two thin, messy, dirty-blonde pigtails.

"I wish I could see you more, too, baby. Miss ya bad when y'ain't here. Always wonderin' what you're doin'." His voice is light but Beth can see the subtle wince wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Why don't you come an' visit me? I could show you my school. An' my room. I gotta princess bed an' shoes that light up when I walk." Annie's reached her hands up and is pulling at Daryl's cheeks – smooshing them together and creating fish lips and then pulling them closed and apart like an angry clown.

"Maybe I will one'a these days," he says with much effort through his fish lips.

Annie laughs and it fills the room.

"Oh, you look so funny, daddy! Say somethin' wif your mouth like that!"

"Somethin'," Daryl says in a muffled voice through his smashed lips.

And Beth isn't able to stop the small giggle that she releases.

"Momma!" Annie runs over a half-millisecond later, still in her princess-themed pink-and-purple nightgown, and jumps up and onto the sofa, nuzzling her face into Beth's armpit.

"Hi, monkey. Have you been drivin' everyone crazy this mornin'?"

Annie sits up comically, perched on the edge of the sofa in front of Beth's face, and scrunches her nose while widening her blue eyes.

"No. I done a lot while you sleeped, though. I helped Miss Lori wif breakfast an' then Carl let me jump on his bed an' then daddy came over."

"Annette Meryl Dixon! What've I told ya 'bout jumpin' on beds?" Beth tucks a wayward strand of hair behind one of Annie's ears.

"Um, I can't 'member." The little girl shrugs before widening her eyes again and smiling so huge that her lips nearly occupy her entire face. "But Carl told me a joke, momma."

Annie erupts in giggles as she tries to recall the words. "He said, _one li'l monkey was jumpin' on the bed an' then it falled off an' bumped his head_!"

"Think he was talkin' 'bout you," Daryl says, remaining on the floor but scooting a little closer to the side of the distal end of the sofa.

"I ain't a monkey!" Annie says, swiveling around on the edge of the sofa to look at Daryl, tiny arms crossed in feigned exasperation across her chest.

"Well then ya best not be jumpin' on beds. 'Cause if ya do, you'll turn into a monkey. An' here's another _joke_ for ya: _ain't_ ain't a word, so I ain't gonna say it."

Annie turns and looks, with exaggerated surprise overtaking her features, at Beth, who plays along with a shrug and nod.

"'Mornin'!" Lori enters the room, wiping her hands on her brightly-colored apron. Her long, brown hair is pulled up into a tight bun and the entirety of her face is turned up into a cheery smile.

"Breakfast is ready, so ya'll better come eat 'fore I tell Carl to come downstairs. Boy eats more'n Rick and I combined."

"Oh, no! C'mon, mommy an' daddy, we gotta eat 'fore Carl comes!" Annie jumps off of the couch, pulling gently at Beth's and Daryl's hands.

"Think she's already on her way to becomin' a bottomless pit," Beth says lightly, grinning briefly at Daryl before hoisting her tired body up and off of the couch to make her way towards the kitchen.

"Yeah," Daryl nods as he pulls himself up off of the floor. "Can only 'magine what we're in for when she's a teenager."

Xxx

Breakfast with the Grimes family had been nice. It'd been a long while since Beth had had the opportunity to catch up on the lives of Lori, Rick, and Carl. She and Lori spoke semi-regularly but usually there was only enough time for small talk and brief pleasantries during holidays and birthdays.

If nothing else, Lori was inquisitive – not in any way that conveyed intentional prying; she'd always seemed genuinely interested in the lives of her friends and neighbors and, generally, any acquaintance and rarely asked questions just for the sake of talking. Beth had smoothly avoided any conversation involving Jimmy, and Daryl had dodged a few questions about his _life plan_ since Merle's passing. Which, to Beth, had nearly stirred some odd feeling of disappointment deep within her.

Leaving Annie to help Lori and Carl clean up the dishes and kitchen after breakfast, Beth followed Daryl outside to the front porch.

He's smoking a cigarette, sitting on the top step with his knees bent up and his elbows resting on top of them.

She's standing a few feet behind him, shielded neatly from the warm morning sun by the shade provided by the overhanging porch – still in her pajamas – but, again, he knows she's there. She knows he knows – something about the tense, upward angles of his shoulder blades, which are visible to her from beneath the layers of denim and fabric, and the way his head is turned completely away from her and yet, somehow, cocked in a certain way that indicates any words he speaks will be directed only at her.

She's justified to herself that she wants to talk to him to ascertain his plans - _their_ plans, or at least his plans with Annie - for the next week. But nothing is ever as simple as it seems – not even her innermost thoughts; she knows that. Not when it comes to him – to them. She's just too tired to unfold the various layers at the moment.

He heaves in an audible breath and scrubs his unoccupied hand over the side of his face a few times.

"How pissed is Maggie?"

She blinks. "As pissed as is expected."

"She don't want ya stickin' 'round here. Don't want Annie spendin' time with me." Neither statements are questions.

Beth sighs and steps forward, lowering herself onto the step next to him. She'd always imagined that physical proximity would've been an issue whenever the time for the two of them to interact again, like this or in some similar way, inevitably arrived. She's both relieved and suspicious – in equal measure – that, actually, it's not much of an issue at all.

"Can't say I blame her," he mumbles, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that dances in the stagnant space of morning air in front of them.

"She's protective," Beth says quietly. "Protective as she's always been. These visits aren't anythin' new, though, Daryl. Ain't like I've ever just dropped her off here and just – I'unno – left the damn state. Ain't ever left her here and gone any further than my parents' house."

He smirks. "Well, ain't had much of a choice in the past. She wouldn't spend a night without ya till last Christmas."

"Still. She knows, well as you do, that I ain't just gonna – leave her. Ain't like I'd feel safe bein' two hours away – pro'ly never will. What're you frettin' 'bout it for?"

"Ain't frettin'. Just got the _stink eye_ from her last night. Figured she was pissed off 'bout ya'll stickin' 'round here. I've pissed her off more'n enough for one lifetime. Tryin' to avoid it if I can." He stubs the smoke out on the concrete step below them before dropping the butt in between his feet.

"It's kind'a confusin'," Beth muses, staring down at her own bare feet. "Here I was thinkin' that all this worryin' and lecturin' would'a stopped, now that Merle's – well, now that he's gone. Sorry," she apologizes quickly, all too aware of the way her words might sound to his still-grieving ears.

Daryl tenses – and Beth's not entirely sure why. Maybe her mentioning his brother's death and insinuation of some degree of subsequent calm or secondary feeling of relief. Maybe her apologizing – for all of that.

"Still happily livin' in that unicorn world of yours," he says, and the edge of his normally-raspy voice is like frozen silk.

She huffs, and the instinct to defend herself – her beliefs, her choices – is bubbling high into the base of her throat.

"Just 'cause he's gone don't mean it all goes away. Can't even deal with his _shit_ 'cause I'm too busy dealin' with his _deals_. Ain't a lick safer now than it was then."

"Great to know, Daryl," Beth spits snarkily, allowing some of the anger and frustration that's steadily built up and around every atom of her for the last several years to rush out of her.

"And, just so you know, I stand by what I said to you the day we left. That _you_ made these choices – they were most important to you, more important than _anythin'_ else, so forgive me if I ain't feelin' sorry for ya. But don't sit here and accuse _me_ of refusin' to see all of it for what it is. I still let her see you. I still bring her here, 'gainst all of my better instincts. Ain't never tried to keep her away from you 'cause, 'gainst all my better judgment, I _trust_ you. I still do. With her, and she's everythin'. And you've never given me a reason to doubt that you can't keep her safe for a few days at a time. So unless any of that's changed without my knowledge, then I ain't livin' with no damn _unicorns_."

Daryl's turned his face towards hers, and she's breathing heavily, exhaling through her mouth in shallow bursts that lightly blow the strands of hair that chaotically frame his face.

And within the span of her next breath, his face softens. Subtly.

"You know that, Beth. Still mean what I said that day, too. Can't promise ya shit fifty weeks outta fifty-two. Only thing I got is my word and the only thing I'm livin' for right now is to keep Annie safe durin' whatever time I got to spend with her." His voice is low and intense, rooted by the veracity of his words.

"And I'm sorry. 'Bout the unicorns. Just – I can't have ya thinkin' this is gonna be the start to some kind'a fairy tale. It ain't. Never has been. Him dyin' don't just – just make the past go away, Beth. Maggie's right. If I could take it back, somehow – all of it. Your parents, Shawn, Merle, and all this shit I swore I'd never get caught up in – ya know I'd do it. I'd try every day to give ya what ya deserve. But I can't. It ain't here. It ain't me. Ain't good for ya – can't be. And I'd never blame ya for keepin' Annie away if I ever stop givin' her the last good parts of me."

Her mouth has fallen open.

It's nothing she wasn't expecting to hear. She'd just never expected to hear it from _him_ , and not because he'd ever been any kind of beacon of self-worth. But because these words – his words – were the ones she'd been saying to herself, deep inside the depths of her mind; the ones in constant battle with other words that she didn't have the energy to decipher most of the time. The words she'd heard – over and over, unsolicited and unwarranted – from the mouth of her older sister. From her friends, as few as they were anymore. From Jimmy, before something inside her had decided that, while there wasn't much _wrong_ in their relationship, it required too much vigor to sift through all of their parts to find anything decidedly _right_.

He sighs and it infiltrates her thoughtful silence. The faint, muffled sounds of Annie's laughter from inside the house behind them float lightly in the back of her mind.

"How – how _deep_ are you in all of this?" Her voice is a shaky whisper. She doesn't really want to know any specifics. No details. Never has. But the question isn't a new one.

He stands up and descends the few steps below them and onto the stretch of concrete that opens up and expands into the walk. Keeping his back to her, he stretches his arms high above his head and she quickly averts her eyes from the exposed sliver of scarred skin between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his jeans.

He half-turns towards her.

"Deep 'nough that I can't see the surface, but I can hold my breath, tread some water for a li'l while." His words, too, echo ones that she's heard before. "Thought I was makin' my way up. Then Merle went and - _fuck_ , he fucked up, Beth. Bad. Cost him his fuckin' life. He wasn't no good. Never changed none. Not from when you knew him. But I had hope for him, 'specially here lately. Stupid."

"When ya gonna have hope for _you_?" She pressures him, just a little, just because she can. Because he's vulnerable right now. Because she is. And she's not feeling any better about allowing him and Annie to _hang out_ unsupervised – not that she ever let them be _totally_ unsupervised. But _she knows him and she trusts him_ , and she's repeating those truths like a mantra in her head.

"When I finish cleanin' up what I started cleanin' up the night I found out 'bout your parents," he says quietly but firmly, and he's still standing sideways with his fingers fidgeting with some kind of nervous energy or agitation at his sides.

"I'm layin' low. Always have been. Guys at top – they wouldn't even know me, not no more. Been too long since I been on the radar. Merle's a different story, but now that he's gone, they most likely think I am, too. Ain't tryin' to get no revenge for Merle. Ain't never been 'bout that. Be best if we wait a few days 'fore I show my face much."

"So should Annie and I just go home? Am I gonna be stayin' in a damn hotel for no reason 'cause you got more important shit to do?" Beth stands, and she's feeling some exasperation. _More_ exasperation.

"No," he says quickly. "Annie's safe. You're safe. I'd offer ya our – er, my apartment to stay in, but Merle's face 's been seen there lately so I ain't even stayin' there. I'm sure Rick and Lori would let ya'll crash here, but the hotel'd be 'bout as safe as anythin'. I'll call ya tomorrow. Might be best if we – ya know, all of us, three of us – all do shit together. 'Least for a day or two. Make me feel less jumpy, I think."

"That's fine, Daryl. I'll get us showered and go get a room and let ya know where we'll be. We'll do whatever – Annie just wants to be with you. If it's a few hours or a few days, whatever. It's enough for her. And I ain't afraid." She stands up and turns toward the front door, stifling a yawn with her hand.

"Y'always been too brave for your britches, Greene," he says, and his voice is rough and his words sound light-hearted but he's not smiling. "Makin' a baby with a damn Dixon. Throwin' a tantrum in front of a low-life junkie. How the hell'd we end up like this?"

She ignores the peculiar warmth that courses through her, because it's inexplicable and inappropriate and unsubstantiated.

"Just be safe when – well, with whatever the hell you're doin'. And find the surface, Daryl. Soon as ya can. Every story doesn't have to end like Merle's. Annie loves you. Needs you."

 _And so do I, you fucking self-loathing martyr_ , she thinks. And the nonsensical thought is constructed by multiples of other half-formed paradigms floating in abstract patterns that inhabit the deepest recesses of _something_ like her consciousness – except that this full but hollow space is the exact opposite of her consciousness, because it has to be.

"Talk to ya soon, Beth." Daryl waves a hand behind him as he walks the rest of the way to his motorcycle, which is parked in front of the Grimes' residence.

Beth moves to re-enter the house, brushing away the faded images that have begun to flash through her mind: her dad's face, first smiling and then lifeless. Her mother's hair, first auburn and neatly arranged into a complex but beautiful knotted braid and then matted and caked with dried blood. Her brother's arms, first locked around her neck in a playful headlock wrestling move and then disfigured with bloody lacerations of skin penetrated by thick bone. And, finally, Maggie's green eyes – first wide with laughter and happiness and love and then leaking with tears and veiled in pain.

She clears the fuzzy and familiar yet still – and always – alarming memories and artifacts from her mind before she steps through the doorway.

And, as she closes the door, she finds some solace in the next thought her mind creates. Maybe because it doesn't belong to her. Maybe because it reminds her that she's here for more than _this_.

 _O, what a tangled web we weave,_  
 _When first we practice to deceive!_

 _ **a/n part II:**_ _ **quote, of course, is from**_ _ **Marmion**_ _ **by Walter Scott.**_


End file.
